


Sass Heals All Wounds

by nikonic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Injury, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Mild Language, Morse Code, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6328660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikonic/pseuds/nikonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple mission goes south. Bobbi struggles with the immediate aftermath of Daisy being shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sass Heals All Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, as usual. 
> 
> If you'd like to see more chapters of this story line or if you have any headcanons you'd like written, please leave a comment. I'm always on the lookout for new ideas. As always, please leave feedback if you have the time. It's always appreciated.

I had a bad feeling about this before we even left the Playground. It was supposed to be simple- me and Daisy for infiltration, Mack for monitoring security cameras and reading off blueprints. Then it turns out to be a trap, and Daisy takes two rounds to the stomach. Fuck professionalism when your fiancé is bleeding out next to you and you're surrounded by weapon-wielding goons. "Mack, we need some help here," I grunt taking a kick to the stomach. "Daisy's down. We need evac now." 

The ground around me shakes, unnerving enough of the enemy for me to utilize my batons to their best advantage. With a quick glance over my shoulder, blood drips from Daisy's nose and runs down the sides of her face from her ears. Remembering what happened with the portal, I feel the panic start to bubble in my chest. "Daisy, stop. Keep your energy." Instead of listening to me, she raises a hand, expelling a series of vibrations at an incoming enemy. 

One thing is painfully obvious. We can't stay put; she'll bleed out, and we'll be hostages. Scooping Daisy into my arms, I rush back through the halls at Mack's direction until we're blissfully in the parking lot. The doors barely close behind me before Mack speeds off to the Playground, and I turn my attention back to Daisy. She's too pale, her breathing shallow, eyes barely open. "Hey." My voice cracks. It's okay; Mack won't hold it against me. "Rockstar." Heavy eyelids flutter at her nickname. "Yeah, you. Stay with me, okay?" 

Rummaging through the back of the van, I find a handful of towels that I pack against her side, keeping firm pressure despite her gasp of pain. "I know it hurts. Simmons will get you all fixed up, okay? Just stay awake." 

If I shout at Mack to "drive the fuck faster", well... I'd rather not have my fiancé die in the back of a van (or anywhere for that matter), and I'm freaking out. Like I said, professionalism be damned. "Daisy, talk to me. What's my name?" Basic questions. Anything to keep her awake, keep her conscious. 

"Mine," she stumbles. 

It brings a small smile to my features despite the situation, and I double the pressure on her stomach. "Yeah, I'm yours, but what's my name?" Daisy slurs a shortened version of my nickname. "And my full name? The name that's going to be on our marriage license?" Her head rolls slightly to the side. I take that as what her verbal response would be if she didn't have two projectiles in her gut. "Yeah, my full name and you only get to say it because you're hurt." 

"Bob..."

"That's not my full name, you dork. You're going to kick yourself for not saying it later. C'mon, Rockstar. What's my full name?" 

"Hmm... Love you..." That sounds an awful lot like Daisy saying her goodbyes, and I'm not ready for that. The van jolts as Mack steps on the gas again. Tears sting my eyes, and I kiss her forehead gently. "Love you," she mumbles again in a rasped breath of air. 

"I love you too, but we're not doing this. Okay? We're not saying good byes because you're going to be fine. You will not deprive me the normality of killing you slowly during a long, uneventful marriage." Her lips curl in what might be a small smile or a grimace of pain. "Daisy... C'mon, baby. Stay with me." But she can't. She slips into unconsciousness, and I track her vitals, her weak and terrifying vitals, while keeping pressure against her injuries. 

Jemma, Lincoln, and a squad of med staff fling the doors open before I've even processed that we're at the Playground. They each rattle off questions about how she was shot, with what, the stability of her vitals, and how long she's been unconscious. I answer as best I can. It feels like my heart is shattering in my chest. "We'll get her into surgery, Agent Morse, and we'll do the best we can. We'll let you know as soon as we have any news," a nurse says before running after the gurney. 

It's Hunter of all people that manages to extract me from the waiting area. "C'mon, love. Let's get you cleaned up." I barely manage a glance up at him. "Daisy will have my ass if she wakes up to find you a bloody wreck." The phrase is a particularly poor choice of words given I'm actually covered in my finance's blood. It's a good reminder though, and he hovers all the way to my bunk. 

While he can be a jackass most of the time (think: 89% of the time), he can occasionally be quite sweet. He cares for me; that's no secret, but he cares for Daisy too, thinks of her like a little sister. He hates seeing the women in his life broken and upset, and right now we're the very definitions of those things. After finding me some clothes, he runs the shower and nudges me into the bathroom. "I'll wait here. Shout if you need something, Bob." 

For the longest time, I stand there, watching hypnotized as the blush-tinted water rushes down the drain. I stand there in the boiling water until my skin is flushed with heat. I remember waking up next to her this morning, my face nuzzled in her neck and arm protectively across her abdomen. I need her to be okay. I'm not ready to lose her just as we're starting our life together. 

Finally I drag myself out of the shower, toweling off on autopilot alone. "I got you a sandwich," Hunter states, nodding towards a paper bag. "I know you're not hungry now, but you will be." Smug, know-it-all bastard. I manage a small word of gratitude. His smile is sincere, but the worry is apparent. "Let's get back, shall we? Wouldn't want to miss a single minute of the coming hours of mindless waiting, would we?" 

And that's exactly what it is. Hours of anxiety. Hours of pacing. Hours of bargaining with a God I don't believe exists. Hours of anger. Hours of watching the scene play out again and again. Hours of denial. Hours of far too many emotions for one person in a finite time period. 

It's Jemma who comes out in scrubs covered in blood. Daisy's blood. "She's alive. She's resting. We'll know more about her stability as the evening progresses." I don't have to ask, as the young Brit directs me back to a room. "Press the call button should you need immediate assistance, Bobbi." She falters before her gentle hand rests on my shoulder. "And between you and me, she'll be just fine. Daisy's as stubborn and strong-headed as they come, which all bodes well for recovery."

Later I'll read the chart that details what exactly happened to my lover's body. Right now though, I just want to hold her hand and hear the steady beep of the monitor giving voice to her heartbeat. "You're scaring the shit out of me," I admit quietly. "But Jemma's right. You're a stubborn pain-in-my-ass, and I know you'll be okay. You have to be okay," I emphasize. 

There is no moving me from my post. It was one thing when she was in surgery, and I physically couldn't do anything. Now though, Daisy could wake up at any moment, and I have no intention of letting her wake up alone. Let me rephrase: I have no intention of letting her wake up without me. For primarily selfish reasons, but whatever. 

Between pacing and waiting, numerous nurses come in to check her vitals, even though I'm perfectly capable (and monitoring them frequently myself). Jemma pops in to assess her injuries and the bandaging as well. Mack brings a six-pack and a deck of cards; it's a sweet attempt to distract me, and honestly I can use the alcohol, though something stronger would be even better.

Three games in, the poor man remembers I'm disgustingly good at cards. He squeezes Daisy's limp hand once before he leaves. "Anytime now, Rockstar," I groan, dropping my forehead to the cot. "I've been in Siberian interrogations more fun than this. Time to get up." 

Sadly I realize that all my sneaky ploys to get her out of bed in the mornings won't work because she's not actually conscious. "We have a wedding to plan, so that the plans can turn to shit because of something I'm sure will be SHIELD-related. It's going to be hard to do that if you're dead, so chop chop." The sarcasm is entirely defensive, as my heart aches tremendously at the mere thought of a life without her. 

Unsurprisingly my mocking of the nearly comatose inhuman does nothing to better her status. Her vitals are still stable- not great, but steady- and that's about it. 

The room is dark with the exception of the eerie blue glow from the monitors when soft fingers brush through my hair. "That can't be comfortable," Daisy grumbles in a pained breath. My heart skips happily. We're not out of the woods; she's got a long road ahead with recovery, but she's awake. It's a start. 

"Says the woman with two bullet holes in her flesh," I tease softly and intertwine our fingers, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "How do you feel?" Before she can even open her mouth, I add, "And don't be sassy." She needs a couple of deep breaths (and a smirk at my instruction) to make it through a few short sentences about the pulsing in her head. 

"Using your powers while profusely bleeding is not likely a good idea. Just a thought for future reference. Also if you don't stop getting shot, I'm going to lose my ever-loving mind." Leaning over her bedside, I offer a kiss to her forehead. "I'll go grab Simmons, and she can give you some dendrotoxin to help with your head."

Her hand tightens around mine, as she mumbles, "M'fine." I want to remind her that the last time she pushed her powers to the limit, she bled from her face and collapsed. Neither of those things are particularly good when recovering from bullet wounds; call it the curse of personal experience. "Lay down." If I had all day I still wouldn't have enough time to list out every reason not to climb into bed with her. "Bob... Please." Selfishly though I acquiesce, curling onto my side and stretching out next to her. "Damage?"

"To my sanity or your body," I quip, tracing gentle lines along her forearm simply to feel her skin. "Two bullets to the abdomen. Perforations and damage to your intestines, stomach, and the muscles lining the area. You lost a significant amount of blood, but your vitals are stable." Daisy fights back a yawn. "And you should rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

A pained grimace pulls at her features when she shifts closer to me. "I'm not..." Her face splits in a yawn interrupting her sentence. "I'm not tired," she tries again. The absurdity of the statement draws a chuckle out of me. "M'not," Daisy insists.

"Whatever you say, Rockstar." Tenderly I brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I love you, you dork." She murmurs a reply, though she's already half-asleep. "Not tired, my ass."

"I like your ass," she mumbles sleepily. If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d pop loose from my skull. "S'a really nice ass." 

Such an idiot. But she's my idiot, and that makes all the difference. "Well you dream about my ass then. Sleep tight, Rockstar." It's not the best way to end the day, but all things considered, it could have been much, much worse. 

Mark another victory for luck. And add points for sass too because that might as well be Daisy's superpower if the whole vibrations thing ever falls through.


End file.
